


by any other name, from any other voice

by daisybrien



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Baby Fic, Childbirth, Diary/Journal, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical, Medical Procedures, Multi, Oh that's right. theres an oc. you know what that means bitches, Polyamory, Pregnancy, its fucking BABY TIME, parenting, polyamorous parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-25 20:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20730650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisybrien/pseuds/daisybrien
Summary: - Amaryllis of Exile.- Cat: Personal/Research/Medical- Timespan: July 30XX - April 30XX- Non-comprehensive initial transcripts of the past eight months. (org. & editing needed)





	by any other name, from any other voice

**Author's Note:**

> *gets into new fandom* its baby time.

"Medical-slash-personal log, entry 5068. Subject, Amaryllis of Exile.

Nausea and vomiting have intensified, continuing into their second week. Other symptoms include excessive thirst and urination as well as fatigue, although I’m not sure whether the latter of these is merely a result of the former two, considering I’ve had to get up in the night. However, I’m not entirely willing to discount it just yet, as – even with my more frequent… disturbances, at night, both Arum and Damien have been sleeping relatively well for themselves.

Self treatment has been relatively unsuccessful. Ginger biscuits have helped settle my stomach and at least keep breakfast down for the first half of the day, that is, if I don’t eat anything before them, or drink, or get up to pee or move at all in bed as soon as I wake up – and honestly, I’m already tired of tasting ginger almost as much as the acid in my mouth in the morning. Almost. I’ve been slowly switching to peppermint tea to see its effectiveness in comparison.

Despite symptoms, subject seems to be perfectly healthy otherwise. I’ve been a little sore, yes, but my movement hasn’t been limited by any substantial pain or exhaustion. Overall appetite has remained unaffected. Blood pressure is slightly higher than my usual, but nothing of particular concern, and heart rate remains smack in the middle of normal ranges. No signs of visual illness or abnormalities are present in the eyes, skin, mouth or other organs – if anything, I honestly look… good? There must be something in the swamp water that’s been doing wonders to my skin, and my hair looks fantastic. But I digress.

Preliminary diagnostics remain inconclusive. I suspect – as much as I loathe to admit to Arum’s concerned prattling, bless his heart – that I may be overworking myself again. I’m also going to check the integrity of our current food stores at Damien’s request to see if anything has spoilt without us noticing. I highly doubt that would have anything to do with it if I am the only one whose getting sick, but it’ll be worth it to check, if only to soothe his worries. Otherwise, I’ll be returning to my lab to run some further tests, and hopefully a blood sample if I’m able to get the proper equipment from the Citadel.

End of log."

* * *

"Medical log – or, personal log, I don’t - saints above, what am I going to do?

Entry 5085. Subject is Rilla of Exile. Symptoms persist, joined by increased appetite and weight gain. I’ve been entertaining my symptoms, increasing food intake and sleep, not like I have any other choice at this point. Factors have all been pointing to one explanation, supported by the fact that my cycle has been irregular – nonexistent – for the past two months. Tests still continue to show elevated levels of estrogen and progesterone in the body. I’ll be running further examination of my samples, waste my time seeing if anything I currently have can act as a proper isolating agent to analyze gonadotropin levels. Not that I’ve ever needed to before, with any other patients of mine who came in, expecting… well. Just expecting.

Arum and Damien are growing more concerned. Their worry has superseded me being sick and sleeping in hours after dawn. And I know, I know I have been more distant, and I can’t tell if my mood is from my hormones being all over the damn place or them needling me about _what’s wrong_, but I still can’t help snapping because I just need to figure out what to do next.

I know they’re just trying to help me, the big hypocrite I am, talking on and on about coming to me for help when they need it. And I know Damien, just how he is. He must be tearing himself apart at the seams, worrying himself silly, over something that I could work through with a conversation, by communicating for blasted saints’ sake. Is this how he feels all the time? Sitting in silent rant, chattering on in that sweet way of his because the words he really wants to say are stuck in his throat by the fear of their implication?

I _am_ scared. Not to tell them, necessarily. I know they will take care of me, learn to take care of another beautiful life if need be – and that is what I’m scared of, not being ready for this myself. With the world the way it is. I’ve been running these tests over and over again, searching for any other reason as if the answer will change when it’s right there in front of me, every single time.

I’ll need to tell them soon. If I’ve counted back on the calendar properly, that means we only have less than a month to decide whether we’re going to go through with this, at most, before I lose the chance to make that choice, and I’m too far along to make the fetus come away safely.

End of log."

* * *

"Personal Log 5089. Rilla of Exile.

I told them I was pregnant yesterday morning, before they could scold me for my health after I almost got sick at the breakfast table for a second time. I know I should be more serious about the situation considering the whole raising-a-child-in-a-social-suicide-of-a-relationship-that-could-itself-be-part-monster, but god, you could _not_ have blamed me for laughing at Damien’s reaction. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with his jaw hanging so low! It’s almost unusual to see him with a mouth that far open with absolutely nothing coming out, but when he finally found his words, those beautiful words…

He’s – incredibly worried now. Happy, yes, but worrying himself so easily, as usual, that I can’t help to expect another terror spell from him soon, and I’m trying to hang on to the memory of that brief moment, when the worry lining his face all but melted off of him. His smile when it clicked in his brain, jubilant and more carefree than I’d seen him since I said yes to him all those years ago... His face glowed like he was a saint himself. He had jumped from his chair and all but knocked it over, and ran to lift me off the floor in those big, strong arms of his. Steady, safe, one of my pillars as much as I am his. That embrace - I could have stayed in those arms, forever.

I still can’t read Arum, and if something is weighing on him – which I am sure it is – he’s hiding it behind his usual surliness. He seems to be more emphatic in his grumpiness than usual, but his face is still the same mask of idle discomfort as it was that morning when me and Damien looked to him. He’s said nothing of his prospective parentage, if he wants to be a father, if he ever wanted to – I’ll need to investigate the rearing practices of most monsters, if any exist. I don’t know if those of magical stock can have children, or choose to be parents, in a traditional sense, or if magic can even create and facilitate those bonds like between two animals of biology.

And in either case, if he is the sire of our child to be… is it even possible for a fetus borne from magic to develop? Would they survive it?

And if – if anything else were to happen, for Damien and Arum to cope – I don’t want to think of the possibilities right now, even as they press on my mind. I couldn’t even share this when I told them. To see Damien’s face so full of joy and hope, love for a child he hasn’t even met, makes me not want to have to bring it up at all.

I’m going to have to eventually, if we are going to be prepared. The three of us have already made it this far though, and I know, I hope, we have the resilience to manage this.

End of log."

* * *

"Personal log, entry 5101. Rilla of Exile.

Saints above, I’m going to start carrying gardening shears with me.

I think the Keep is happier than the three of us combined, at this point. And I get it; it’s being real sweet and I do appreciate the gestures, but sometimes a girl just wants puke into the nearest waste bin or massive pitcher flower without a whole branch of bonsai tree trying to rub my back soothingly. If my hair is already out of my face, I don’t need anyone touching me, okay?

End of log."

* * *

"Medical log, entry 5111. Subject, Rilla of Exile.

Returning to the use of ginger to remedy nausea and vomiting. Reminder to make note of the differing efficacy of ginger and peppermint, and cross-compare to past cases of morning sickness among former patients.

End log."

* * *

"Personal log, entry 5120. Rilla of Exile.

I’m recording this later than usual. Damien’s work in the Citadel took him late into the night today. I missed his doting, as much as I won’t admit it out loud, the precious way he insists on offering his hand when I need to pull my feet from the mud or insisting on rubbing my back, even though I still have no added weight to show to cause any muscle strain. He’s home now, safe. I should be in bed with him and Arum now, but despite my tiredness I can’t seem to sleep.

Dinner was quiet and tense without him. Sometimes I don’t realize how much of the space here is filled with him; his words, his smell, his god awful cooking the rare day he insists on treating us. Arum and I still spoke, of course, but all of his responses were blunt. I tried to bring up some of the details on how the pregnancy was progressing, but it seemed to only set him on edge. Of course, that only served to put me on edge, and nothing I wanted to say about how excited and terrified I am and how terrified he must be too was said.

I know he’s accepted it, understood it as another step for the three of us to take together, but I can’t help but flare up with anger at how – _insufferable_ he is being about the matter! If he would just tell me what’s bothering him, what I can do to help him know what’s going on or – saints, if he could just tell me what he wants, if he even wants this, because we’re almost in the second trimester and soon we won’t have a choice, even if I’ve already made mine. I’ve made mine, but – I need to know he’s going to be here, that him and Damien are going to father the shit out of this baby together, that they’re going to keep them safe from a world that says they shouldn’t exist. Because I want this but I - I don’t want it alone.

And – okay – as well, I’ve been trying to find some of my texts on fetal development in the Citadel. My old notes and records, as well as my parents' – oh, enough of that – are, well, adequate enough, but even if the doctors in the city are nothing more than superstitious fools, it would be nice to get second opinions. However, I think – okay, fine, okay!

The Keep is shooing me to bed, even though I’m out here because I can’t sleep in the first place, because if I could I would be, thank you very much - 

Oh don’t use that tone of voice with me!

End of log - yes I’m turning it off, _mom_ –"

* * *

"Personal log, entry 5121. Rilla of Exile.

Continuing on from yesterday’s entry - before I was so _rudely_ interrupted – the suspicions I had going into the Citadel a few days ago were confirmed today. I followed Damien this morning into the city. He told me that, somehow, news of his impending fatherhood _just so happened_ to get out. Of course, Damien insisted he had been conservative with his words – as unlikely as summer heat in the South – only trusting some of his closest confidants and rivals who I knew would otherwise be shouting of Sir Damien’s ‘gracious gift from the saints’ in celebration. By the time I had even made it to the local market, about two dozen knights had come to congratulate the two of us – mostly Damien, of course, patting him on the back while I almost retched in the street, because it would kill people to clean after themselves on the road, by gods.

I’m not mad at him, as much as he now seems to think so. And I wish that right now I could find the patience to help him find a calm rhythm to his breathing, but I can’t seem to find mine because of how angry I am. Not at him, but, at - all of this. Of everyone calling us such a happy couple, shaking our tense shoulders as they talk about what they expect to pop out of me when there’s this whole piece of us missing. I can almost feel Damien clenching his jaw beside me, pained at having to keep from blurting it out. And what will happen once the baby’s here? Will I have to hide their face from a world determined to kill it? Even if they are entirely human, in appearance, what will we tell our child when we walk into the Citadel missing a vital piece of our family - how am I supposed to explain that their father is loathed and any slip of the tongue will risk all our lives? I’m scared and I’m furious and my heart is racing a hundred miles a minute and I feel so alone, even when Arum and Damien are nearby.

I didn’t even find any useful medical journals in the Citadel. Which made today just a massive waste of time, and I can’t wait to crawl into bed and hopefully not have to talk about it with either of my boyfriends.

End of log."

* * *

"Medical log, entry 5139. Subject, Rilla of Exile.

Developmental milestones for the beginning of the second trimester are standard. Nausea has, thankfully, subsided. Weight gain is steady, and becoming more visible in the breasts and abdomen, the former of which has been – very sensitive to touch, at the pleasant surprise at the subject at hand.

Otherwise, nothing of note. Further investigation into the developmental process is wanted for the sake of detail and clarity. However, multiple volumes that I own on the matter have, it appears, mysteriously gone missing from my shelf. A thorough search should be in order.

End of log."

* * *

"Medical log, entry 5156. Subject, Sir Marc of the Second Citadel.

Him and Tal came to visit for another regular appointment, and to refill on medication ahead of time, for once. No indication of long-term changes when cross-referring to past exams. However, I would like to follow up for further examination in the near future, before the next medication refill. While the altered Numb-Caps we found in the jungle by the edge of the Swamp doesn’t exhibit any indication of changed chemical potency or composition, I would like to monitor Marc’s relative wellbeing now that I’ve – unfortunately – ran out of my stock, after this much time. Treatment using traditional Numb-Cap will continue.

Marc – also came to congratulate me on the news of my pregnancy. Complete with a gift basket of, well, relatively useless toys and - randomly picked herbs? He told me Tal helped him pick out those with medicinal properties, so it may be worth going through the batch before tossing the entire mess away, if he’s being honest. Still, despite his usual overbearing self, it was - nice to have him dote over me, even for just a little bit. It’s almost charming, seeing the two prepare for their impending uncle-hood. It's good, to see that. To be around people who are just - excited, you know? Who are just happy there is going to be a baby here soon! And not having their minds already jump to worst case scenarios.

Arum, lucky monster, wasn’t here to get the full dose of Marc’s enthusiasm – poor thing, not being able to meet up with his pal in arms – but Damien was eager to entertain. I didn’t catch the conversation they had before he left, but it seemed, even with Marc’s admittance to not exactly being happy in my choice of partner, that they left on amicable terms.

Reminder to clear a day of appointments, on calls only, for two weeks from now to get updates on Marc’s wellbeing. And to hang out.

End of log."

* * *

"Medical log, entry 5170. Subject, Rilla of Exile.

Fetal development continues as expected. Weight gain is steady; diet should remain unchanged after initial increase in caloric intake a few weeks ago. Other symptoms have presented, including indigestion, headaches, and minor abdominal pains that seem to strike at random.

While I understand the heartburn, I would like to investigate further on the latter symptoms, in addition to the fact that I’ve – well, I can’t necessarily check to see the frequency of these symptoms in case studies, including my apparent and sudden onset of being utterly scatterbrained, if I don’t know where I’ve placed any of my medical texts at any given time! I’ve managed to keep tabs on important appointments and medicinal stock by adding verbal notes in – notes that only help when I’m able to remember to organize them in the first place.

Arum, of course, seems to be basking in my recent penchant for disorder, the heathen of a self-proclaimed experimenter he is. He’s only managed to exacerbate my disorganization with his disregard for proper damn scientific processes, being able to access and record observations and interpretations seeming to be the last thing he cares about! And when I tell him that while _he_ might be fine with chaos but I can’t monitor the health of his fucking child when everything is a mess and I can’t find the books I know I left on my shelf, maybe you could help me find it if I’m _so_ forgetful-! Anyways.

Add – ugh, irritability to symptoms list. Either way, I’ll be more at ease once I’m able to finally locate all of my notes and texts. At the same time, that is.

End of log."

* * *

"Entry 5192. Rilla of Exile.

I felt the baby move for the first time today."

* * *

"There-! Just keep your hand there, you should be able to feel it-"

“Oh-! Saints above, is that really it?”

“Yep.”

“What in the blasted-“

“Oh, of all the sweet blessings of the saints, we finally get to witness the first stirrings of their tenacity-“

“It’s-it’s moving-?”

“Wh-why of course, you reptilian fiend – the first thing on your mind when you bear spectator to such a phenomenon is your realization that species of our caliber have evolved beyond the use of eggs, -“

“Okay, okay, that’s really not something I want to imagine right now-“

* * *

"Research log, entry 5226. Subject, Lord Arum.

Experimentation into the extent of monster hearing continues in secret. I’ve been logging his reflexes to produced sound. Input: dropping a pin from the same height, in the same place in our room at random intervals and recording his reactions depending on his current location, with Damien and the Keep’s watchful eye. So far, past observations have been reinforced by agreeable findings – two days ago I heard him yell from the kitchen about _what in the bloody hell that sound was_, to Damien’s startled mirth – which seems to support his claim of having hearing ‘superior’ to humans as more than just him being made entirely of smug hyperbole.

I’m first to admit that my so-called experimental design isn’t exactly replicable, but honestly, with how overbearing he has been, going through all of my materials – which he doesn’t return in order! - and claiming them, and I quote, ‘entirely hazardous and heedlessly used for a woman of my current infirm state,’ I think I’m allowed to have this. Science isn’t fun if there isn’t even a tiny risk of something blowing up, even if it’s burly cute man-lizards.

Still, I’ll cease operation of this particular investigation for a little bit. Arum has been really – on edge? That doesn’t seem to be the proper word to convey his greater – concern, over the past few weeks. He’s been different. And I’d be laughing if this little prank on my part wasn’t me trying to make sense of it. I’ve been waking up at night to find him awake, his head resting on my stomach, his brow furrowed like it was when I had him feel the baby kick for the first time. He’ll be entirely quiet, wincing when Damien snores extra loud, it’s like he’s – listening, to something. I haven’t been concerned about the baby’s heart rate – I don’t think any of the so-called experts in the Citadel have anything more advanced than a stethoscope, which isn’t going to be able to do the job for at least a couple more weeks. But it would be nice to gain some insight; if he’s able to hear beyond human capability at this point, he might be the key to discovering factors of fetal development scientists can only dream of having the equipment for in the next few decades.

I have to ask him, even if it embarrasses him right into his next shedding. And even if my big mushy romantic brain is trying to tell me otherwise, because – he makes this really cute purring sound, when he does it? The one he insists _isn’t_ purring because he isn’t some mangy feline, but me and Damien still call it that anyway – that one. Sometimes I don’t think he realizes that humans can, in fact, hear the sounds he makes more often than he realizes. I’d hate to be the one to burst his haughty little bubble. I don't think I want to lose those kinds of moments.

End log."

* * *

"Log entry 5244. Rilla of Exile.

Fetal development is continuing at an ideal rate. I haven’t been able to locate a heartbeat with the use of a stethoscope, but movement is regular so I’m willing to let the stubborn thing hide it from me for the next week or two.

Diet is being – coercively adjusted, with an increase in leafy greens at the adamant request of my insufferable – yes, you heard that right! – my insufferable boyfriends. I don’t know where in the three hells Arum heard the words ‘folic acid,’ but he’s managed to get a frenzied Damien on board on an ambitious project of force feeding me every possible thing that’s green and edible in this damn swamp. Which is a lot of things, okay!"

“Oh, you overreact-“

"My diet is balanced already, and I’ve been monitoring nutrient intake as well as calories religiously. I’ll admit, now that I’ve been so rudely interrupted that everything but the spinach is doing wonders for the heartburn, but I’ve already been supplementing with other sources of-HEY-!”

"Let the-"

"ARUM YOU GIVE THAT BACK-"

"Let the record show that Amaryllis’ bias towards her and – apparently – her baby’s ‘preferences’ have left her neglectful of others’ best interest-"

"PUT IT DOWN-"

"-even when well-supported by the scientific literature she holds so dearly to her heart-Amaryllis-!”

“HA! End of log – don’t you dare! No-! END OF-"

* * *

"Entry 5245. Rilla of Exile.

Reminder to edit previous logs for accuracy and scientific integrity.

End log."

* * *

"Medical-personal entry 5253. Rilla of Exile.

I was finally able to locate a heartbeat with a stethoscope! Damien managed to get a listen in – and promptly burst into tears, the sap. I can’t blame him though; the rhythm of it, even though I’ve been able to feel the baby move about so easily – it’s just a weight off my shoulders to know everything is as it should be. And it was a little thrill, to hear it thump-thumping away. Like - how easily you can hear it in another person’s chest when you press up against them, and even without the warmth of skin or the rush of their breath in their lungs to hear… you fall in love a little bit, every time.

Didn’t ask Arum if he wanted a listen, and he didn’t ask. I think he knows I’m onto his sappy ways as well.

Everything seems regular. Development continues to progress as normal. Heartburn has kept me from sleep, though. I’m going to start selectively excluding certain ingredients from our dinners in an attempt to manage it, and decrease the use of Tums-Wort.

End of log."

* * *

"Personal-medical log. Entry 5278. Rilla.

Baby continues to grow as expected. Gained weight and growth has been causing a host of unpleasant symptoms, such as aches and pains - in every conceivable place - and fatigue. It’s been hard to keep my mind on my experiments and materials. I – may have mislabeled the fire starter again, with the table salt. I’m banned from the kitchen.

I’ve been spending most nights at my hut, alone. Sleeping is difficult, with positioning and heartburn and my twitchy legs, and it’s been keeping the boys up as much as it’s keeping me. Arum insisted the Keep simply construct me a new room and bed, but even then my restlessness can be heard through the walls, as much as they pretend it doesn’t.

The sleeping arrangement hasn’t helped my poor mood, either. I’m going to read up on some potential stretches and exercises that can get my spirits up and help with the aching. I’ve also been taking time to meditate in quiet nooks around the Keep. Damien is insistent that I go out with him into the city next week, which would be nice; he’s been stationed on an away mission a bit from now and it would be nice to spend a day together. And I know a fantastic butcher just outside the artisan’s market that has some of the best – or most tolerable to eat – cuts of boar-fowl liver I’ve found in the Citadel; that with onions should do wonders for my iron levels.

End log."

* * *

“Log 528- eight? Or nine, I think it’s nine – can’t check, as I’m fully embracing my designated role as the town’s crazy lady by talking to myself while I’m literally shopping in the middle of the Citadel! We got here in the early noon but have been here for hours now, and I can’t get anything from the butcher until we’re done so it doesn’t spoil in the heat, so by the time I’m home I’m probably going to crash and forget to make my memos on current restock, so.

The first dozen of the new beakers are to remedy the broken set from last month’s little, uh, combustion setback, and store the new batch of anti-allergens, which should be ready by tomorrow after drying. The second set can remain in storage in the shed, however check the integrity of the cured ingredients. If there are any breaks or leaks, dispose of corks and other porous materials that can harbor any bacteria and replace with the new ones, and thoroughly disinfect glass to prevent microfilms – throw out anything metal or silicon. Press the skyshine aloe by – Friday, the latest? They must have been in transit for at least two weeks from the east and I want to be able to salvage as much of the oils as possible, a little goes a long way-"

“Oh, Rilla-!”

“And the man of the hour has arrived. Damien, where the hell have you-?”

“Oh come now, the Havensby family were just looking for you to wish us congratulations! We should go back, it would be in good faith to accept their company for a little while-“

"Maybe another time, Damien, the butcher’s is-"

“-not closing until sundown! Now, I did also get word-"

“Until-? How long are you expecting to stay here for?”

“Oh, not more than an hour or two, at most, my flower. Which means-"

“Are you kidding me, Damien?! Two hours?! We’ve already been here for the entire afternoon; how do you still have errands you need to run?”

“My dear, I – it’s never in good mind, or practice, to rush what needs to be done right! Just a little more patience-"

“A little more – you’re kidding, right? You've got to be kidding me! You still think I have patience to spare, after being on my feet for a good half a day-!”

“Rilla, I-"

“My feet have been swollen and sore since we got here! I’ve almost thrown up, twice, no thanks to the oh-so-pleasant aroma of the downtown Citadel streets, my head’s been pounding since I woke up-"

“My love-"

“- if you can even call it waking up when you barely sleep in the first place! My back is killing me, my hiccups from two days ago are back – and did you know the baby can get hiccups? It can! And it’s annoying! Almost as annoying as it sticking its foot into my bladder like its your damn training dummy – and again, the health standards of some of these places? Abysmal! And I’ve been trying to trek through this, no thanks to you, since you’ve been disappearing whenever you please to run off who knows where! And now I’m yelling in the middle of the street, like the cranky pregnant lady I am, and I’m so embarrassed that I would stop if my anger wasn’t already making me dig my heels into the damn cobblestone and commit to the bit, goddamnit! So yes, tell me, tell me what slim patience I have left, and why I should spare it, please!”

“Oh Rilla; my love – you know I’m sorry, in every sense of the word-"

“Saints, no, I should be apologizing, I don’t know what came over me.”

“I was merely – oh, my Rilla, forgive me!"

"No, let's just - go home, okay?"

"But - they’re - Rilla-"

"Or I'll go home, I don't want to keep you from doing anything else, and I don't think you want me tagging along after all that-"

"They - Rilla, they're preparing. A celebration, for you, at our home. For you and the baby.”

“There’s – what?”

“It was intended to be a surprise! In hindsight, however, I cannot imagine how anyone could have ever thought this would have been clever-"

“Damien-"

“To have expected someone of your condition, as much a miracle as it is, to have belabored yourself as we had you to – as I had you to! – my, to have forgotten to show care for just the people at the center of it all, for what we’re all celebrating in the first place, how I failed to even consider something so obvious is outright offensive!”

“Damien, no – you planned me a surprise baby shower?”

"Not well enough, I suppose – in all of our careful work I didn’t even think to question my role, my actions, I’ll be working towards forgiveness until the Saints’ second coming-"

“I just yelled at you in public, I should be the one saying sorry!”

“Only because I led you past the boundaries of your comfort – oh, Rilla, my love, no!”

“And now I’ve ruined the whole thing, you guys probably worked so hard on it-"

“Oh, you can let all that to go acquaint itself with the latrine and mingle with the sewage now; none of that matters if you’re not well enough to enjoy it.”

“But it’s so sweet and I-"

“And you nothing! I may no longer have the task of being your distraction, but you still are and always will be my main priority. That means rest, sleep, and food for you. Immediately.”

“I can take a nap after the party, if people have been getting ready-”

"Your dear Marc can entertain himself with the mead, trust when I say he is well supplied. Come, Sir Caroline’s barracks is only a few strides towards the castle, you can slumber there to your heart and body’s content.”

“We won’t bother anyone?”

“Hardly! A whole barracks for one knight, who is currently, well – preparing with our other compatriots.”

“Really. And how is she taking that.”

“Quite terribly, I assume. Shame we couldn’t be there to witness such an amusing sight.”

“It is, and - why are you carrying me, again?”

“I could hardly call myself a gentleman if I were to let you walk in the current state you’re in – unless of course you would like me to stop-!”

“Nope. Put me down and I start yelling again – oh shit, is this thing still-?”

* * *

"Entry 5290, personal log by Rilla. The party was – a little out of control, in the end. But I don’t care. I didn’t realize how badly I needed my family around me. As hectic as it all can be.

Feeling a little better. I didn’t give into Arum’s pestering – but the Keep all but locked me into a new room so I didn’t have to go home last night, specifically with Marc hanging off Tal wasted out of his mind so both could crash at my place. I can’t even complain about not getting to drink because I would not have traded seeing Marc and Angelo race down the lemonpalm trees for any of those images to be marred by subpar sobriety. They better not trash my room though.

I got to wake up to both my boys beside me. Then sleep until noon and get to wake up to breakfast in bed – or lunch. I don’t care; I have no shame in accepting the pampering anymore. I fucking deserve it, man. I’m the pregnant lady.

Reminder to package the anti-allergens by the end of tomorrow, otherwise the rest can wait. Also, send Damien to clean up whatever mess Marc left during the night, because I’m not cleaning it up if he puked on the sheets again. If you're listening: no, Marc, I’m not ever going to let you live it down.

End log."

* * *

"Medical-personal log, entry 5303. Rilla of Exile.

Everything is golden through and through; developmental milestones are being met as expected, and fetal movement has become more forceful. I was able to see a hand through my skin the other day, and Arum almost launched himself out the window when I showed him. Serves him right, with how much he’s been getting the Keep to hover around every damn symptom I have, and micromanaging my diet – as if I’m not the doctor!

I’ve started entertaining the idea of a birth plan, just as a sort of general guideline to the things we’re going to need. I think this is an opportune time to actually get some details down, rather than have to stop once Damien starts obsessing every possible hypothetical. I can’t blame him for being anxious over the prospect of having the baby here, with me being the only person with the medical background to help in the case of an emergency – even with everything as right as it can be, as surprising as that is for life in general. Everything has been okay so far, and it’s not as if I won’t be seeking second opinions if something concerning develops. Which reminds me, I need to look through some of the texts I picked up just on the border of the Citadel – I still don’t trust much of the medical expertise of the city, but I can at least trust some of the midwives to not diagnose me with female hysteria.

Still, it’s – a difficult situation. It would be more of a risk, to have the baby in the presence of a midwife, or a doctor, from the Citadel no less – I’m kind of surprised Arum isn’t as vehemently against it as I imagined, or wanted him to be. Damien raves on and on about the dangers of having an unassisted birth, but if someone else besides us catches that baby, and its - visibly Arum’s – I – both, or all of us could be as good as dead.

And as much as I have to prepare for - I still wish he were here, right now, with all his pestering and overbearing ways. I think I’m just finally coming into reality – this is going to be my family, here. It’s not just going to be the three of us anymore and that is mind-boggling and way too real to process all at once so – so I’m just – going to review these books now, and see if I can find the ones that still seem to elude me, drifting to and from my bookshelves, and maybe talk about it with Arum later today.

End of log."

* * *

"Medical log, entry 5308. Subject is Rilla of Exile.

Well, it took about a month of careful association cues, and reorganization, and reference practices, all with little success. But I was finally – finally! – able to keep my eye on one of my comprehensive maternity texts long enough so I can actually get a decent, thorough read on labour and delivery practices. I’ve literally done everything but keep it under lock and key to make sure I keep it in one – damn – spot! Pregnancy brain is _real_, and now I’m going to be able to cross-reference it.

I’m currently flipping through, reviewing each chapter briefly so I can compile some of the consistencies between this one and the others I’ve gathered, as well as with the more specialized nutritional guides and other books that grabbed my interest in the Citadel. I want to gauge the reliability of the authors and their associations. They’ve been relatively correct, but my own volumes haven’t steered me wrong with any of my other patients in the past, so it’s always good to double check. It would also be wonderful add some more up-to-date information in the volume itself, considering it has been on my shelves for –

Wait a minute… what in the world, that isn’t-?

Okay, I know my mind has been all over the damn place, but there is no way in three hells I wrote these notes. Look, I’m messy, but I’m meticulous with my note taking, and with updating my research - and when have I ever used-? This isn’t even my own writing! So that means –

End of log, for now, oh I am going to tease the absolute _shit_ out of him –"

* * *

“Research log, entry 5309. Subject: the one and only Lord Arum-"

“Joyful.”

“-of the Swamp of Titan’s Bloom. Research of the utmost importance-”

“That I don’t remember consenting to, which, if I remember correctly, is an especially integral tenet to the scientific method.”

“Oh, boohoo, you enjoy it.”

“Well then, humour me as to what this is about now, if I relish in being recorded against my will as much as you claim, _tktktktk._”

“Regarding the clandestine nature of Arum’s true, investigative nature, and interest in the medical sciences-"

“Ridiculous-"

“-as well as its relations to his kleptomaniacal tendencies. Observations: the cycling dis- and reappearances of scientific texts off of my book shelf. Dog-eared and bookmarked pages in such texts. Frequent notes in the margins of such texts that weren’t present before their disappearances, in a very familiar script.”

“... I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? You don’t know why your own writing is in my medical journals? I guess it’s magic, huh, since you’re so far beyond the observable sciences.”

“And I stand by that statement! I have no need for such simple practices.”

“Really? Because the Keep’s been telling me some _very_ interesting things about what you’ve been reading up on, things you told it not to-"

“As if you understand what it is saying!”

“Well enough! Oh – come on, now, are you embarrassed that I caught you-"

“I cannot be embarrassed by something that never happened.”

“You tell yourself that – oh, you’re blushing! Another piece of research for the books, turns out lizards can blush-"

“Amaryllis, I will take your recorder again.”

“You wouldn’t d-ARUM-"

* * *

"Personal log by Rilla, entry 5321.

I hope the recorder picks up my voice – Arum started napping by my feet while we were in the den, on the loveseat. And sure, I can get up whenever I want, but it’s hard when you got a sight that cute right in front of you that you can’t tear your eyes away from.

I am not complaining. The Keep is about to get a run for its gold at this rate, with how doting he’s been – I don’t think I’ve ever denied a backrub, but he’s offered so many times that I guess I now have the luxury of it. Something changed, after I ambushed Arum about the notes. Turns out he’s been catering to the sciences in order to get his own, independent insight on the pregnancy. I don’t know why he wouldn’t just come to me, considering that hey, hello, I am a doctor. This is kind of my area of specialty. But, he’s a stubborn asshole who can’t concede when he needs to learn something new, something beyond the magic he lives in. And, as expected, he took up his own clandestine study in order to carry on in his haughty ways until he finally admits that I had a good idea from the start – that we work better when we do it together. Replicable results, every time. That’s science, baby.

I – don’t know what to make of it, in this case. When I first told him we were having this baby, he had been so withdrawn – and that’s something I still need to get used to, after all this time. When Damien’s anxious, you know right away, miles away. You can’t get the man to _not_ verbalize his anxiety. But with Arum, as much as he has relaxed around us, shared and loved with us… he had a wall up, this entire time, and I don’t think any of us realized until I was the one that went running straight into it. 

Now that I’ve gotten through – I can almost physically see the weight lifted off him, how he doesn’t need to slither around us, and the baby, so quietly, so afraid to tread on his own worries. Tonight, we just talked, and it was so _easy_ – talked and listened and teased each other when we brought up what we thought the baby would be like. How we were going to get a crib up the Keep’s steps and then argued with it about how it wanted to make the crib itself. Of the magic swirling around the Keep, of the little flowers that bloom every time he asks what we should name them. Daisies, that seems to be the most common answer, but those white rosebuds that have been coming through on the Keep walls are almost iridescent - and the way they glimmer, the magic shining bright in each delicate vein of the stems - saints. The baby kicked hard the first time I noticed them, but it didn’t hurt. Like magic. The magic, which I’m also realizing, is something I should be sharing in, and not keeping to myself. Like the science, like the anxieties, like the hope we have for this baby.

Just watching him snore away, now. I don’t think there’s anyone else that I want to be sharing this with. Him, and Damien, and this baby seemed so impossible in those first few moments. It still does, but – it’s happening. It’s real. And I have no idea what to do.

Damien will be back soon, and I hope Arum realizes that none of that doting is going to shut me up about his little side hobbies, all secretive and baffled about the whole human-baby thing. If I can’t make him all sheepish about it, I’m sure his darling honeysuckle can."

* * *

"Patient log, entry 5334. Subject: Sir Damien of the Second Citadel.

Patient initially entered my care, again, a few days ago. He had a puncture wound underneath his right rib, resulting in pneumothorax of the right lung – breathing is still labored, but better. Suction continues to be used to remove the remaining air from the chest cavity, through the existing opening.

He has – patient currently presents with high fever, chills, and cold sweats. Discoloration is visible around the injury’s border. Topical and oral antibiotics and antifungal treatments are being administered three times a day after the wound has been disinfected. Analysis of the – the foreign object, as it were, does not seem to exhibit any venomous or otherwise biohazardous properties inherent to its structure, ruling out the need for anti-venom treatment. Introduction of particles and bacteria through the siphon might prove an issue, but – I can’t take it out without risking more air entering the chest cavity, and stitching the wound now might mean causing infection to spread or needing to make another incision if the lung collapses again. So for now I need to leave it as it is, and he is on mandatory bedrest.

I suspect that treatment was delayed, after the initial accident, until his work was finished - why his colleagues didn’t bring him here immediately I – I could honestly tear some heads off right now, I don’t – I don’t know, this was serious! Honestly, to every damn saint I – don’t know why.

Swabs of the injury site have been taken and placed on agar and antibiotics for further investigation. Enquiry into the bacterial growth on these samples will be used to evaluate the value of rigorous combination therapy to fight infection, at this stage.

End of log."

* * *

“… and so there was the growl again, the trees creaking as if in pain as a chill swept through the camp, a warning of what was to come. Lurking over the embers of the dying fire, its eyes were glowing sinister gold in the pitch black of midnight, straight into my soul. It approached as I stood to raise my bow, steady as you please, and there I saw the beast. First, its wet snout, foam dripping down each fang in rivulets that jutted out of its grisly jaw. Then, the two forepaws, with claws as long as butcher knives, tearing through the hard-packed earth as it stretched. Then, its full, mangled mane, a tangled web of long fur matted with the dirt of the jungle and soaked in the blood of enemies of a much poorer fate than I. The rest of it followed into the dim light, inch by inch – and there, merely feet away, stood the largest horned-lion that all four regions of the world have seen! Muscles with the weight of anvils rippled under its filthy pelt, it’s body more than twelve feet long as it stretched, ready to pounce-!”

“You embellish your tale, Honeysuckle.”

“Oh, Arum, my dear, do – do you doubt my storytelling skills?”

“I’ve had no qualms with your wordplay in the past, but that – that’s just simply impossible.”

“Now really.”

“Of course! Horned-lions are often no bigger than the common bison.”

“Not this one, my dear love, this one was a true beast, red in tooth and claw, it’s stature that of a brick house-"

“Well, now you’re just being excessive.”

“I see; you doubt my honesty then! When you, yourself, saw the tooth pulled from its place lodged between my ribs – as long as a knight’s blade, perhaps, and twice as sharp-"

“My god, Damien-"

“-whet on the bones crushed from animal and man alike! And its leap, twice my height and thrice the distance-"

“Honeysuckle, perhaps you should-"

“- my, if that gaping maw had fully found its target around my throat, without the lucky pull of the bowstring, taut as a – oh dear. Rilla my love, are you okay?”

“Damien, I – I don’t –"

“Oh, I’ve upset you, dear Rilla! My heart, sweet, come here –"

“No – no, no, no, I can’t listen to this anymore.”

“Amaryllis, stay, do not rush out without us-"

“Fucking Saints – no! I can’t do this, I – let me go! I can’t, I can’t-!”

* * *

“Log. Entry – I don’t know. For Damien, or for me, or for - Marc – dear god, Marc you were right, you were right all along! He’s going to get killed, mauled to death by something out there and I’m going have to bury him in pieces – I’m going to have to bury him, alone, and he won’t even get the right to have both of us beside him in the fucking dirt in the end!

And the baby – saints I can’t, I can’t fucking do this already! I already have two people here but one slip and everything – everything can go wrong – and then they’ll be killed and what will I have done? How could I – having a baby whose life will just - I can’t protect either of them, I can – I can barely take care of myself to the point of losing-"

“…checked by the evening lilies, already! She would have left tracks in the marsh if she had been by-"

“Well, she couldn’t have gone more than a few feet from the Keep, we just – Rilla! Rilla, oh my love, speak your heart, tell me what is wrong.”

“Damien, please, I can’t – I can’t do this, not like this-"

“Your breath, my love – slow down now, follow our breathing, the two of us are here.”

“I – I can’t breathe – I can’t even fucking breathe right and everything is wrong, everything is-"

“Your mind is agitated, you must take a deep breath – and another, yes-"

“I can’t-!”

“I know this pain, Rilla; your mind is speaking ill to itself, you must stay grounded with me as I you. Let’s turn this off now, I’ll take care of it – we’re here, alright? We’re-"

* * *

"Medical log, entry 5368. Subject, Rilla of Exile.

Fetal development and weight gain continue to progress ideally. Soreness and edema have gotten worse as I’ve advanced through the third trimester of the pregnancy, along with the persistence of prior symptoms - which is unfortunately to be expected at this stage. Continuing with the use of hot compresses seems to manage, but not significantly decrease, body pain. Other diagnostics have come back clear. My blood pressure is higher than usual, but well within normal ranges – which I would have expected considering the, uh, episode I had recently. No other instances have occurred.

Speaking of, I – this does leave me in a bit of an impractical situation, I guess? I’ll admit that my decisions to self-advise and medicate might seem nebulous to some. I can justify it with the pregnancy, considering its exceptional circumstances and relatively stellar progress so far. But even with the slightly limited experience I have with illnesses of mental origins, I – don’t think it’s wise to self-assess your own mind in a professional capacity, especially considering my own is in need because of its apparent turbulence.

I just - I still feel like my mind is a bit fuzzy, after what happened? It had _never_ happened to me before, and as much as I’ve witnessed it in the past, with Damien… I didn’t realize just how all-consuming it can be. How consuming it is, and you don’t even realize you’re falling when you feel your gut clench and your body shake, and you don’t even know there’s something right in front of you to grab because you’ve accepted, in all that terror, that you’re just going to hit the ground eventually – and not even know what to do if you can get up after it.

It’s almost a shame my mind can barely grasp that state anymore – ever the scientist, because of course I wanted to be able to put down the symptoms in medical terms outside of just its physical presentation. All this time – you’d think it was a physical attack of some sort, and I guess it is, if it's sourced in the brain’s chemical processing and regulation? But the emotional factor of it… is that what he feels, all the time? The tightness, the helplessness of it – it’s – mundane, I guess! Old news for him, at this point.

He recommended an epsom salt bath, which is ironic, because I think _I_ was the one who told him what that was in the first place years ago. He also wanted to join, of course, but I don’t want to irritate the wound now that it’s almost healed. Still, I’m jumping at that bath – both of them, later.

End of log."

* * *

“Crazy pregnant lady walking through the city log, entry 5372. Sir Marc will guest in this maintenance recording-“

“Yippee.”

“- to guarantee clarity and understanding regarding his roles for the afternoon. Now, you’re going to repeat after me –“

"Do we really have to do this, Rilla? This feels ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous. And you need it, because if you hear it in my voice it’s going to go through one ear and out the other.”

“That’s not true!”

“Is so!”

“Is-! Forget it, can you just read out the list?” 

“Ugh, fine. Okay, closest thing is going to be the botanist down the road from the produce market; get five bags of gardening fertilizer. Then, you’re going to get me three pounds of ginger and _fresh_ snivelroot; if you get them for me dried I’ll strangle you with the remains.”

“O-kay.”

“After that, the chemist is three blocks south, and its kind of tucked away above that really crappy – actually, scratch that, I don’t trust you to carry any of those materials safely.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Instead, you’re going to go to the artisan market, and find that really good shoemaker, and get me a non-slip loafer in a size nine.”

“Sure thing – hey, wait! I’m not buying you shoes!”

“Of course you are. It’s on the to-do list.”

“I’m here to help you run errands! So you can make medicine. That I need! I’m not buying you gifts.”

“They’re not a gift! And I can’t make your medicine if I can’t stand at my lab bench for more than five minutes.”

“You’re _really_ going to lecture me on how you can’t stand.”

“Look at my feet, Marc. Look at them – I might have to chisel these shoes off tonight.”

“Well then you can go get your own shoes, and I’ll go buy the things for my medicine at the chemist! How hard can it possibly be?”

“So you’re sure you can remember.”

“Of course! What is it?”

“Hydrosulfuric acid, calcium sulfate, and formalin. I’m also running low on vermiculite for spills.”

“…Write that down?”

“Oh, of the saints, Marc-“

“You’re the one who asked me to come along! You had a husband at home who was very willing to get you all your stuff.”

“Willing doesn’t mean able. If I gave Damien even one chance to run into the Citadel, he would have popped his new stitches before Angelo could do it for him.”

“Oh? And what about, _y’know_ –“

“You’re really going to pull that shit here?”

“Oh no, not talk about the _lovely lady_ you’ve been keeping hidden!!”

“Marc, so help me, if you don’t shut up I will smack Dampierre so hard you’ll be nose deep in a Southern blizzard before he slows to a trot, so help me-“

* * *

"Medical log, entry 5383. Subject, Rilla of Exile.

Growth continues as expected. Fetal heart rate and movement frequency is ideal. On mom’s end, however, symptom flare ups are becoming troublesome. These include joint and muscle pain, shortness of breath, migraines, and edema. None of these are a surprise; at this point, the baby is taking up enough room to effectively, in blunt and non-scientific terms, absolutely wreck shop. There’s nothing to do about most of these until I pop the baby out but still, I’m just – I am just so, so big right now? I am ridiculously big. I don’t know how I can possibly get bigger. But I am. And it’s so big!

Still, it’s been making work much harder. I’ve already cut down my patients for the next few months drastically, but even making up prescriptions, or even simple research, has become exhausting. It’s impossible to stare at any of my notes long enough to engage with them before my headaches start. Even if I wasn’t out of breath before I made it anywhere interesting, I can’t even bend down to pick up anything in the understory. Which means I’ve had to be accompanied by either Arum or Damien – who, refer to entry 5379, has technically been released from my care, even if he still, well, lives here. And their constant questioning, every time I make anything that isn’t a sound of definite delight – I’m very pregnant, nothing feels good anymore! You don’t have to keep asking if I’m okay! Just pick the damn woodworm out of the underbrush already!

Anyways, I’ll have to continue cutting down my workload. It’ll give me a chance to thoroughly peruse my recordings, and review my notes if my head allows it. Maybe the Keep can keep me company during the slow days so I don’t go absolutely stir crazy.

End of log."

* * *

"Research log, entry 5398.

Disregard prior entries under the same title. Topic of interest includes the chemical and hormonal properties of clawed newts undergoing spontaneous shutdown of non-organ vitals while under stress. The phenomenon can be witnessed after triggering significant pain responses in non-autotomous – but non-vital - structures of the body. Biological analysis of organ chemical - sorry, organic chemical composition reveals predicted elevation of cortisol – wait. Okay, scratch the organic prefix, since it doesn’t belong to the discipline, but also, I don’t know why I have this marked as an adrenaline component-? Adrenal, it says adrenal.

Okay, screw this. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’m practically seeing double now and can’t read, so I’m taking a nap and coming back.

Reminder to edit logs when I’ve returned, and log administration of eye drops in medical log – yes, yes, I’m going to lie down. You don’t need to be so worried.

End of log. Keep the singing down, okay? I’m-"

* * *

"Medical log, entry 5404. Subject is Rilla of Exile.

Worrying symptoms; blood pressure hasn’t gone up from previous weeks, but it hasn’t decreased. Swelling in extremities and face have increased, and vision problems are accompanying the headaches, which initially cued me in that something isn’t quite right. Fetal movements are regular, as well as heart rate, but it’s little relief.

Arum’s concerned, but he’s been putting himself to good use by indulging his scientific curiosity and helping me go through my journals, to see if anything sounds familiar. I’ll also run more tests, just to rule out toxemia. Some of the headaches do sound like it, but – I might just be overreacting about the swelling, right? Plus, my blood pressure has been stable around this level since I had the terror spell, so there isn’t much else to worry about. There can’t be."

* * *

"Medical-personal log, entry 5407.

Tests came back, and - fuck.

There is a significant amount of protein in the urine sample I gave – in every one of them, actually, just to see if there was any cross-contamination with remnants from another experiment? But that is definitely not a good sign, and almost certainly means that I have toxemia. Which is bloody brilliant. Absolutely fan-fucking-tastic! I have no fucking idea what we’re going to do."

“There’s no need for that language.”

“There is very much need for this kind of language, Arum! This is serious!”

“I know, but-"

“If it were something I can treat, something I could reverse, this would be fine – but there has been absolutely _no_ research that remotely suggests something to even slow it down until I have the baby, and that’s too far off to risk waiting. The dangers-”

“I know the dangers. But if there’s only one option, then we’re going to have to follow it.”

“Arum, I don’t know if I can do anything.”

“We can – we already are. We have to work with the reality the universe has decided for us. We’ve done it before, and we can do it now, but you need to decide what to do next before we can continue.”

“Saints – it was going so well. Everything was going so well! And now everything’s going wrong-!”

“Amaryllis, please.”

“Fuck, okay. I think – I just need the time to think before Damien gets home tonight. Once he’s here we can make a plan – go over it. Okay. Breathe, Rilla, breathe. Let’s take stock of anything that can help in the meantime, return to the notes later."

* * *

"Log entry 5408.

This is almost guaranteed to be a case of toxemia, which means the most viable option now is to force delivery.

Fuck. I have clary sage, but even if its effectiveness were guaranteed, and the baby is close enough to term to reduce the risks associated with a premature birth, they’re not in a proper position-"

“Are – why are you still recording?”

“It’s useful information for future cases.”

“You have a serious medical condition – your words!”

"This is keeping me sane right now, okay, don’t test me! The baby still seems to be breech, because I know I’ve been feeling feet kicking at my bladder; I’ll be attempting to turn them around manually, but after we have to make sure their head descends properly, and I would know if they had dropped by now. After we somehow manage that, we still have to consider anterior presentation, which – it’s feasible. Probable. To do all of it. But it’s going to be very, very difficult.

We need to make a decision soon. If this had graduated any slower, maybe I would have given myself the time to monitor my condition. But at this point, even if I hadn’t missed the signs, as small as they were – this is already severe enough. Arum is getting everything ready before we go to the hut and wait for Damien to get home. The Keep is making the crib like everything is hunky-dory, because of course it is – although I - don’t necessarily mind the singing. It helps.

Everything just feels so unreal right now that I don’t know what to do in the meantime. I don’t think testing the clary sage oil will hurt at this point, and I need a cup of tea. That sounds like a good next step."

* * *

"If all goes well – I mean, it’s not exactly well now, but if it’s okay enough. I’m going to try and record the experience, as it happens, and hope I don’t completely break the sound threshold on this thing. If contractions don’t start within the next forty-eight hours, I might have to find a way to manually induce.

I’m waiting for Damien to get home, then going to bed.

End log."

* * *

"Entry 5410; it’s about four in the Saints-forsaken morning - I think this is it? There is extreme pressure, almost pain, localized in the lower back, which spreads to the lower abdomen in slow, but regular, intervals. It’s getting –“

“Amaryllis? What are you doing out here?”

“I don’t know. I’m fine, please don’t worry.”

“Are the pains worse?”

“Different, more regular. It’s just hard to lie down.”

“Still, rest is your priority right now. Come before Damien finds us both gone, and we’ll get you comfortable-“

* * *

“- ease through it, let it flow over you like the clean waves of a calm sea. There you are, my Rilla.”

“Fuck, Damien – okay.”

“Has this one passed?”

“Okay – yeah, I don’t think so. Saints above, this is something.”

“You are a true wonder, Rilla. You’re doing so marvelously, so incredibly brave, stronger than the likes of the greatest warrior.”

“You’re flattering me.”

“I may be one for theatrics, but you know I retire hyperbole when it comes to you.”

“Saints I love you, you know that. Oh hells – Damien!”

“Easy, easy. Be calm, let it come over you. Steady your breathing with me, now - just like you’ve showed me before.”

“The irony isn’t lost on me there. Saints, why is taking Arum so long? I need–!”

“Easy, Rilla, be calm. I can go fetch him.”

“No! No, no no! Please, don’t go!”

“Rilla!”

“Don’t leave, please.”

“I am not moving an inch – please, love, ease through it. There, you are doing perfectly. Please, let me know what you’re in need of.”

“Just – just hold me… Tell me a story?”

“Hm, well, there’s so much I can tell, as always. Perhaps something you have not documented in secret?"

“I can turn it off.”

“You need not worry, my Rilla. You may save what you please, and I’ll be here to say it all over again when our child is here – easy, love. We will meet our baby soon, and then we can sing and weave tales as tall as towers to their heart’s content-"

* * *

“-not leaving this house! It’s too dangerous, Damien!”

“Do you think I would be insisting if we had any other solution? At this rate-!”

“-she’s progressed far enough that she would not make it to the Citadel before any sort of medical care would become useless!”

“Well what choice do we have?”

“We stay here!”

“You are not staying here to wither, Rilla. You are too sick to do this yourself anymore! Look-!”

“I know how sick I am! I know something is wrong!”

“Then let someone help you! Let us help you, I am begging you!”

“How-?! I’m so tired, I’m so scared-"

“I know, my love. Give us the authority, please, let us seek someone to help you!”

“And where would that someone be?”

“I gave soil to Marc – we-"

“You-? That’s – Damien, that is-"

“Genius? Not to the likes of you, or Rilla, but enough to endure the next crisis. We go to the Citadel, seek medical-"

“No! I’m - I can’t do this without both of you.”

“And I will not sit by while I watch my wife and child perish in front of me!”

“Amaryllis, listen to him.”

“I can’t lose you like this. I’m not going to risk never seeing you again, for you to never see our child, for our family to be torn apart by some goons in armor –"

“And if you both die here, bleeding? Do you think I can even bear the thought now?”

“Please, stop-! Oh saints, please, make it stop, it hurts so bad-!”

“Rilla – just hold on, just a little more, my Rilla.”

“Honeysuckle... she can’t do this much longer.”

“I know.”

“Will you take her?

“Will the two of you allow it?”

“Keep. I assume Damien has told you what to do should this situation arise. Come, Amaryllis.”

“We can’t go to the city-"

“I’ll curse the whole damn city a thousand times over for all its repressive and petty worth before I let any harm come to our family.”

“Damien…”

“You focus far ahead on the storm to come, only to fail to see that the shelter you need is merely here. Focus on the here, the now, what amazing things lay right ahead – the miracle you are bringing into this world! - staying strong enough just to be here in this little, impossible family we’ve cultivated so carefully – come now, Rilla, easy, breathe.”

“The here and now-”

“No harm will come to you while I am by your side. I promise, the two of you will be home hardy and whole, to the both of us – I promise.”

“Alright. Enough meandering – go! Before she worsens, please.”

“Arum…”

“Go, please. I-”

“We will be back, the three of us, come through now-"

“I – I love you, and – they’ve gone. Gone and left this mess for me alone, bloody mess and sweat in - I don't - she left her recorder her, because of course-"

* * *

* * *

"Entry 5411. She’s - she’s here. She’s finally here. And she’s so, so perfect.

After everything, of course I ended up forgetting my recorder in the Keep after Damien ran off with me in tow, and everything after that was a bit of an agony-induced blur of oxytocin and blood loss - see next log for as full of a medical account as I’ll be able to manage. But I remember him by my side, praying, and Marc and Talfryn had actually done their research and knew a competent midwife in the Citadel, and even when I could feel myself fading in and out while I was trying to slur out some sort of medical whatever - 

She was, miraculously, okay. A little early, almost small enough to warrant concern, but - she’s here. With soft cheeks, and ten fingers and ten toes, and an ear-piercing cry with a voice that can match her dad’s. 

She looks like Damien. Which is almost obviously a relief, considering if she had taken after her _other_ father, our trip back home would have been much faster and more complicated than it ended up being - as much as I wanted to bring her home to Arum as soon as I could. You can see it in the curve of her lip, and the little cowlick in her hair that you can tell is going to turn into a curly mop that’ll be impossible to brush out. And you’d think she’s only Damien’s - almost like I had nothing to do with her at first glance - a spitting image, even with the little birthmark on her cheek, right under the corner of her left eye.

But her eyes… that was the first thing I noticed, when I finally got to hold her for the first time. They’re not Damien’s hazel, and they’re sure not mine. I looked at her, in those beautiful, innocent, violet eyes. And she looked up at me, and - I felt that rushing, overwhelming feeling, all as the world almost stopped around the two of us. The feeling when I jump from the rocks, over the glen by the Keep, and the water roars quietly around your ears. Like when I trip and fall dancing in the square, and Damien is able to sweep me into a dip, almost like we did it on purpose - or when Arum watches over my shoulder as an experiment bubbles cleanly, his claws so sharp but so gentle against me. Like watching the boys laugh as they spar playfully, or waking to the same heavy flutter in the stomach, every morning, with soft skin pressed on one side and smooth scales under my palm on the other, and everything is safe, and you don’t ever want to leave.

Those violet eyes, that little proof of magic and science that has served months of our bickering, _together_… I didn't think I could feel the rush of that again. I looked into those eyes, and fell in love with them, again and again, a hundred times over.

I’m going to do a full diagnostic on the two of us in the next entry, just for recording purposes. First, I’ll have to get the Keep to stop baby-hogging. Being able to sing lullabies nonstop has given it an unfair advantage; let’s hope it doesn’t lose as much sleep as it did when it got sick when we really get into the parenting business.

End log."

* * *

“Arum?”

“Mm? Seems you’ve grown tired of resting.”

“Nice sight to wake up to, though... You sure you don’t purr?”

“You truly have a knack for ruining these kinds of moments, don’t-“

* * *

“-seems a little cliché, doesn’t it?”

“Our latest list of names looks like a botanist’s notebook; I think we’ve fully subjected ourselves to the bit.”

“It’s not us that gets the name – and it’s not subjection! You say that like we’re effing torturing her.”

“So subtle. Keeping your speech clean around naive ears.”

“Calm, please! You two work yourself up into a frantic mess over nothing.”

“We-?!”

“And before you have a chance to retort - I’ll have to agree with our Rilla on this one, my love. I prefer to follow the Keep’s intuition.”

“Roses, of course you are so easily swayed by its easiest blooms-"

“Maybe if _you_ got your mom some flowers once in a while she wouldn’t have to make so many.”

“A Rose, that which we call her, would smell as sweet, would sing a cry as clear as day - would prevail among the smitten and joined hearts of human and monster alike-"

“Looks like we’ve got him going.”

“Like you don’t love it as much as I do.”

“-would retain that dear, dear perfection-"

* * *

"Entry 5418. Reminder to do some more work on the natural acidberry detergent - it does not get spit-up out of Arum’s super valuable macrachnid silk.

End log."

**Author's Note:**

> @ daisybrien or callumorrissey on tumblr, hmu


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